Hunter's Moon
by nightdweller
Summary: Sequal to 'Fire To Ice'. Nynaeve looks for revenge while Lan searches desperatly for his wife.
1. Into Play

Disclaimer: Robert Jordan King ruler of the wheel of time series... me little copycat (the plot is mine though.)  
  
Yess this is the sequal to Fire To Ice. Please read and review. I'm still thinking out the plot so don't expect quick updates.  
  
Prologue: Into Play  
  
Min studied Rand over the book she was pretending to read. She didn't need a viewing to see what was going on his handsome head.  
He sat in a high backed chair, quite plain but with him sitting in it, it was like a throne. His strong chin rested on his branded palm and his fingers gently stroked the smooth skin by his lips. His cold grey eyes stared at nothing, showing he was deep in thought.  
His mind contemplated, as it always did, of the Last Battle and who would stand at his side when the time came.  
News of Nynaeve's death had reached them quickly, catching the whole camp off guard. Rand had not shed a tear but his eyes grew, if possible, colder and harder. His list of allies was growing thin. Who would stand at his side and aid him in wheeling Callandor? Who could he trust to take Nynaeve's place?  
Elayne and Aviendha were too precious to be used or more likely lost. Egwene was Amrylin, solely an Aes Sedai. No matter how painful it was, she could not be trusted.  
The door eased open and Rand burst into life. He sprung from his chair, seizing his sword from where it rested and planted himself between Min and the door.  
  
"He probably has drawn on Saidan too," Min thought dryly.  
  
An Aiel marched in accompanied by a straight-backed young man who walked confidently but his eyes darted between the Aiel and the Lord Dragon.  
  
"I told him he couldn't see you but he brings news from Aviendha and Elayne," the Maiden said unceremoniously. She then squatted by the wall and began to sharpen her knife.  
  
Min marked her place and concentrated on the messenger, who drew himself up ready to launch into his speech.  
  
"I bring greetings from her Royal Highness Queen Elayne of Andor…" as he paused for breathe Rand broke in.  
  
"Get to the point," he ordered. The messenger looked ruffled but continued.  
  
"Her Highness bids me to tell you that the Lady Nynaeve," Min held her breathe and glanced at Rand who busied himself with setting his sword down as the messenger continued. "Lives." Rand sat down.  
  
"Tell me all," he commanded.  
  
Rand ran his fingers through his hair. He moved quietly about the room aware of the sleeping Min on the bed. He crossed top the window and whispered into the night.  
  
"So, a player returns to the game. You made a mistake. Nynaeve will never be used as a pawn." 


	2. The Search Begins

Chapter 1 The Search Begins

Mogheidan drained her cup and seized the wine pitcher. On finding it empty she promptly hurled it against the wall just as the door opened.  
Velina gave an involuntary step back as the furious Forsaken whirled round to face her.

"What do you want," Mogheidan snarled.

"Mistress forgive me," Velina whimpered. "But you ordered that all news be reported directly to you."

"Well get on with it," Mogheidan demanded.

"The message came a few moments ago. The Seanchan have withdrawn from the fort, leaving it burning. Few survived."

"So we don't know where she is?" Mogheidan muttered more to herself than to her companion.

"Not exactly," the Black sister said sheepishly. "There was someone who did see a woman fitting Yana's description fleeing the fort."

Mogheidan sat down, her head dropping into her hands.

"There's more," Mogheidan's head snapped up. "There was a man with her. They didn't manage to get a good look at him."

The Chosen looked shocked and for a moment was speechless. She could see her nightmares coming true.

"FIND HER!" She ordered, jumping to her feet. "I don't care what it takes, find her and bring her to me. By force if need be. I want every Black agent on red alert."

"Forgive me mistress, but is Yana worth all this trouble. We have nothing to fear from her."

"Then you are a fool," growled Mogheidan and Velina was dismissed.

XXXXX

"Lan you are not going anywhere!" cried Elayne. "No guard is going to let you wander out of the palace."

"Then I will fight whoever stands in my way," Lan returned hotly. "Even you if I must."

"That sounds like a challenge," Elayne stated drawing herself up to her full regal height. Lan loomed over her.

"Maybe it is."

Aviendha watched this exchange with interest, secretly hoping that there would be a display of power from either side. Lan was a strong, skilled man who she greatly respected. He was adamant in his request to search for Nynaeve himself. The Aiel frowned. Her first sister, the Amrylin and the Warder had returned five days earlier by way of a gateway. She had listened intently to their story and rejoiced with them over their discovery of Nynaeve. Lan had slept for three solid days and once awake had been making a nuisance of himself all over the palace in his bid to escape. Lan and Elayne were still bickering when Egwene swept into the room.

"Lan please think about what you are doing," the Amrylin said. Lan turned to face her setting his feet wide apart, a stance, Aviendha noticed, of a man expecting a fight. "There is no way you can find Nynaeve over such a large expanse of space. She could be anywhere."

"I have to find her Egwene."

"I know and staying here is the best way to do that. Think. I have every agent in every country on the lookout for her. When we receive any sort of information of her whereabouts, which we will, you may leave to find her. But until then stay here, it is your best chance. You must give me your word."

Lan looked torn but finally saw the truth in her words.

"I give you my word."

XXXX

Along a well trodden road somewhere in the south of Kandor, two horses plodded along. One of their riders was a woman wearing a blue cloak in defence against the cold, biting wind. Her dark hair was gathered in a braid that hung two thirds of the way down her back. Her eyes were alert as her companion spoke.

"I'm sorry my lady but I go over it one more time?" He companion requested. He was a man in his early twenties, well muscled with sharp green eyes who seemed to be having trouble controlling his horse. He was nowhere near handsome but pleasant company.

"Yes, of course and its Yana, not 'my lady'."

"Yana," he said under his breath so she didn't hear him. "So you are an Aes Sedai."

"Yes."

"Of the Black Ajah."

"Correct."

"And those other women back there were Black Ajah too."

Yana nodded.

"And that man and those women were..."

"They claimed to be my friends," Yana said to him. "Even my husband. And I believe them."

"Why?"

Yana stared straight ahead down the road.

"I don't know. I can't explain it, it just makes sense. It fills the gaps up her," she touched her forehead with a gloved hand. "Like certain things have been removed and replaced with these wooden memories. I don't even know where I was born," she turned to face Vlad who found himself captive of her dark eyes. "I want my memories back."

"And we must find Mogheidan the Forsaken to do it?"

"Yes she holds the answers I am looking for. I'm sorry I dragged you into this," she smiled sadly at him. "You can leave if you want, there is nothing holding you here."

"I'm not going anywhere," Vlad said confidently and was rewarded by a stunning smile. "Why don't you open a gateway?" he asked a blush creeping onto his face.

"I have no idea where Mogheidan is except that she is in Kandor," Yana said frowning. "And it's too risky. If we appear too close she will sense me. I don't want her having any sort of advantage."

Yana dug her heels into her horse's flanks speeding into a brisk trot.

"We're going to have to speed up if we're going to reach the next village before nightfall. It will snow soon, I can feel it."

A/N sorry it took so long. been having some problems with the plot. Thanx so much for everyone reviews they have been really supportive so keep em coming. Thankyou for be so patient. 


	3. Sinking into Darkness

Chapter Two: Sinking into Darkness

It was already growing dark and the air frigid when two horses galloped into a small village. The villagers watched the pair dismount outside the inn cautiously.  
Yana looked round at the people who had stopped to stare at them. Cor shook his great head showing his anxiety. Yana patted his muzzle and moved closer to Vlad.

"Stay alert, we are not welcome," she said under her breath. Vlad fingered the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt as they took their horses into the stables.

Yana swept into the inn ignoring the frowns from the local people. The innkeeper immediately jumped from his seat and rushed over bowing low.

"My Lady!" he simpered smoothing back his greasy black hair. Yana cast her eyes distastefully around the common room. Vlad strolled in after her and the innkeepers smile faltered as he spotted the sword he carried.

"Two rooms," Yana ordered bringing his attention back to her.

"Yes my lady, of course."

The keeper led them up the rickety stairs jabbering away that they did not get many visitors. Neither of the pair noticed a woman rise from where she had been sitting and hurry from the inn.

XXXXXXXXX

Yana shifted restlessly in her poor excuse for a bed.

"Best room in the house my foot," she muttered.

The inn was silent, the locals long gone home after a rip-roaring booze up that Yana had been most unfortunate to witness as she ate what was meant to be a dinner. The sight of sweaty, grown falling about and shouting obscene things had put her in doubt of her appetite and this feeling was finished off when she caught side of the 'food' itself.

Now nothing could be heard. In fact it was a little too quiet. A board creaked outside her door. Immediately Yana sprang from her bed, fully clothed because of the cold and seized her cloak just as the door burst. Yana wasted no time. She instantly sensed two sources of power, wilders, like herself. That information came so casually that she almost didn't notice it. Putting that aside she wove two shields and placed them easily on her targets who were surprised to find her awake. At the same time she snatched up her bags.

The two women though powerless tried to block her exit. To save time Yana smashed her fist into the first's, a petite blonde, face and slammed into the second sending her clattering down the stairs. Yana sprinted to the next room where Vlad was desperately trying to fight off three large men. Weaves of Air sent the men into the wall, knocking them unconscious. Without a word Vlad seized his sword and followed his liege lady. Outside three more men were waiting by a cart.

"Get the horses," Yana ordered as she strode out to meet them. Vlad hesitated a second, weighing up the men but after seeing what had happened upstairs he did as he was told.

The men ran at her but were flung back by an unseen force. Yana marched to the nearest one, a young man barely old enough to shave. Silently she cut off his air supply.

"Who sent you?" she hissed. The man withered on the floor, desperately trying to breath.

"Please," he wheezed. "I don't know."

Yana felt herself grow angry and the pressure on the young man increased. His face began to turn red as he clutched at his throat and still Yana continued. His eyes began to droop and his struggles began to lessen.

"My Lady," came a shout and the spell was broken. Yana released the boy and he lay in the snow gulping in the air. Yana stared down at him wide eyed finally realising what she was doing. And she had been enjoying it.

Hurriedly she turned and mounted gracefully into Cor's waiting saddle. She let out an unsteady breath, the mist swirling round her as Vlad scrambled up. Finally Yana found her voice.

"Hurry there will be more," and with one last glance at the boy she turned into the snowstorm raging around her.

plz keepa da reviewas comin :):):) 20 would be nice then i can update. Next chapter features a very special guest. Clue: he is a bit sly. 


	4. Hangman's Noose

Chapter Three: The Hangman's Noose

It was market day and the sky was growing cloudy promising snow to join that that had already fallen. Voices raised in bartering and arguing filled the air.  
Yana and Vlad made their way slowly through the crowd upon their horses. Yana scanned the shop windows searching not for purchases but for signs of Black Ajah massive spy web. Eventually they stopped outside a clean looking tavern named 'The Hangman's Noose' to rest the horses and themselves. Even though it was near to lunch it was surprisingly empty. When asked the landlady told them they were hanging a murderer. Vlad shook his head.

"Bar brawl?" he asked.

The women nodded. "Was in here. Sweet guy, didn't seem like he could kill someone even if he did have some fancy knife tricks. Argument over a card game but it sounds like self defence to me."

"Poor sod. When is it?"

"In about half an hour."

Yana half listened to the conversation but soon excused herself for her mind was wandering off. The bar maid thought she was being snooty but she settled down to flirting with Vlad. Before Yana realised it, it was coming up to noon.

"Roll your tongue in Vlad, we're going," Yana whispered as she walked past. Vlad tore himself away and followed her out much to the annoyance of the serving girl.

A large crowd had gathered in the freezing air and biting wind in front of the gallows. They all jeered as the accused was marched onto the platform.

"Blood thirsty," Vlad muttered as he scrambled onto his horse. After a third attempt he finally managed it but looked far from comfortable.

The hangman's voice drifted over as Yana pulled up her hood and slipped on her gloves.

"Matrim Cauthon," Yana's head snapped up. That name, she knew that name. Her dark eyes focused on the young man standing with his hands bound. He was taller than her, but then again who wasn't. He stood at ease but she could see his brown eyes darting around looking for an escape. His eyes twinkled with mischief that she recognised but could not place.

She set off at a run, pushing and shoving through the crowd ignoring the abuse yelled after her. Vlad stared after her before slipping gracelessly from his seat.

XXXXXX

The hangman slipped the noose round Mat's neck, making him instantly want to itch. Inside dice inside his head was spinning unsure where to land. His messenger must have been stopped by his 'victim's' high-powered friends. He was desperate as he looked for a way out.

Angry shouts came from the crowd attracting his attention. Someone was forcing their way through, someone he couldn't quiet see. Suddenly the figure burst out from the bodies and threw back the hood that masked their face. The dice in his head stopped.

"Nynaeve?" he croaked as the trap door opened.

XXXXXX

The boy disappeared down the trap. A second later Fire exploded on the rope, burning the thick cord. The boy collapsed on the floor after a brief second in limbo.  
Yana wasted no time to see if he was all right. Instead she threw the executioner and the two guards away at the same time shouting for Vlad.

The crowd scattered screaming about the Dark One's work.

Vlad's face appeared leading the horses. Yana swung herself into the saddle as people ran in terror. For now the prisoner was forgotten. She extended her hand to the boy. Instead of hurrying he stared up at her like a country Bumpkin. Finally he gripped it and mounted expertly behind her. She dug her heels into Cor's flanks sending him jolting forward and the fox escaped his death. Again.

well wot do ya'll think. I got all me reviews (shouts yay and hugs everyone).

Jyssii- your gonna have to wait a little longer for the whole memory thing. (I'm thinking of a trilogy)

Rayefire- hopefully lots will happen- unless I run out of ideas

Can't be bothered to sign in- sign in

Neela- darkness taking over. That's all I'm sayin

Aria- sly not shy. I dnt care if you can't spell. I love you.

Gywlym- everyone else is off eating party rings and waiting for their cues. 


	5. The Fox

Chapter Four: The Fox

Yana, Vlad and the strange man made it successfully into the forest on the eastern edge of the village. A rich canopy of tree extended far above their heads capped with untouched snow. The floor, however, was in the majority unaffected by winter's mark. The party slowed to a gentle walk.

Vlad glanced across at the strange boy, no man, seated behind Lady Yana. He sat confidently as though used to the saddle. Subconsciously Vlad sat a little straighter imitating the man's position. Vlad's eyes narrowed as he saw the lad's arms around the Lady's waist. The man noticed his gaze and grinned over at him, his brown eyes twinkling. Vlad turned his hazel eyes away to look in front. The group continued in silence until Lady Yana drew rein in a small clearing.

"We'll camp here tonight," she stated. "Vlad can you get the fire wood?"

"Are you sure?" he whispered back glancing meaningfully at the man who had settled on a fallen tree trunk.

"I'll be quite alright," she said reassuringly. Vlad hesitated before slinking off into the wood.

XXXXXX

Mat watched the woman he knew as Wisdom of his village unsaddle her horse, all the while talking to it softly to the animal. She had not changed in appearance except her hair was slightly shorter but he wanted to see if she had changed in temper. Standing he crossed over to her.

"What are you telling him?" he asked reaching out to stroke the beast's half white, half black muzzle.

"I am telling him he is free to kick you," she answered off hand. "He doesn't like you." Matt quickly withdrew his hand. He changed the subject.

"Found another male to do your bidding?" he mused, referring to Vlad. Immediately he saw her eyes flash and knew he had achieved his goal of hitting a chord. She whirled round.

"You act as though you know me, stranger. If you do, you should know I need no man to protect me. You are only avoiding a demonstration of it because of this." Her hand shot out and seized the fox medallion that hung around his neck, pulling it down so that they were eye to eye. He felt something tickle his chin and he knew it was Nynaeve's belt knife. "And don't think that will stop me cutting your throat," she whispered menacingly. Roughly she pushed him away and sheathed her knife.

"I am no stranger Nynaeve," he declared growing concerned. Nynaeve glanced up at her name. Mat stepped closer. "Don't you remember me, Wisdom of my village?" They gazed at each other, their eyes deep and dark, so alike in colour. Something dawned on her face.

"Your face and name pull on the strings of my heart and memory yet I cannot place you Matrim Cauthon."

"We can fix that," Mat said. "Return to Andor with me."

"No," she said simply. "Only Mogheidan can release the memories she imprisoned."

"But Lan is in Caemlyn," Mat reasoned, hoping that this would entice her.

"They escaped," she whispered her eyes filled with tears. For a second she looked truly happy but then it was taken over by grim resolution. "It makes no difference. I cannot come." She tried to turn away but Mat gripped her arm.

"No you will listen to me," he ordered. "You will return with me even if I have to tie you up in a sack." Nynaeve gaped at him open mouthed.

"Take your hands off her!" Vlad yelled bursting from the trees, his sword ready. Mat let go and stepped back his hands raised.

"I should just open a gateway and shove you through," Nynaeve said an evil glint in her eye as she frowned at him. At that moment Mat thought her capable of anything.

"Nynaeve if you refuse to come to Caemlyn," he leaned past the extended sword. "Then I insist on staying. You left Emond's Field for us. I will not leave you now."

Mat watched her gaze soften, an expression he did not associate with her but the more he thought the more it seemed to fit.

"Alright," she said in a near whisper. "You can stay." She turned away, a shocked look n her face because she had believed him so easily

Vlad lowered his sword. "I'm watching you fox," the ex-jailer threatened, keeping his voice low so as not to allow Nynaeve to hear.

"You better watch out for yourself," Mat muttered back grinning. "You'll be for it when her husband turns up."

He aimed to walk off but stopped.

"Nynaeve," he called. Nynaeve turned round as something thunked into the tree beside her. Instantly her head flashed to a carnival, red hair and declaration of undying love. She saw buried in the tree her belt knife. She hid a smile as she retrieved it. A distant part of her brain told her Mat had not changed.

XXXXX (LATER THAT NIGHT)

"This report just came in from south Kandor. Two of our Aes Sedai in Dalet village found a women meeting Nynaeve's description. They are certain it's her after she fought them off along with knocking five guards unconscious and nearly killing another." Elayne read to Egwene and Lan.

"When was this?" Lan asked immediately.

"Three days ago."

"Make ready my horse," Lan ordered. "I leave at first light." He told the women.

"But Lan…" Egwene began.

"No I have kept my promise. Now it is time to keep yours." 


	6. On The Wind

Here we go chapter five. Not very long but I took what Amber said about it being without description on board and hopefully this is a little better. I will try to make sure you understand how the charecters feel AND what they are saying. I totally agree that the last few chapters are alittle weak with description so I'll try to re write them as I go along. Can you tell me what ones need a little more attention. (Idon't have a beta you see unless you count my sister because nobody in my class or anyone I know have read WOT)

Chapter Five: On the Wind

The forest was eerily quite. No wind stirred the branches, no glint of stars peered though the wooden fingers, no animals skittered in the darkness and no birds called through the night. The ground was snow covered, but an area had been cleared to reveal frozen solid ground. In the centre of this small clearing was a fire, leaping and dancing as it devoured the wood it sat on, banishing cold from the air surrounding it, denying winter itself.

The three companions were all close to this fire, taking solace in it's warmth but only one remained awake. A cloak lined with fur was wrapped around her slight frame so no flesh could be seen save her face. Dark eyes stared intently at the flames, reflecting it's light and adding to it from somewhere deep inside the woman, something alive and smouldering. She ignored the occasional stir of her compatriots but she was alert, the sound of a dead twig under foot would have been deafening.

Although Yana fingered the belt knife under her cloak, her mind was elsewhere. Yet, for once, he thoughts were not absorbed with the quarry she pursued with such vigour. No, her mind dwelled on the one person no doubt searching for her: al'Lan Mandragoran. A beautiful name that even now, in winter's icy grip, warmed her heart. It was hard to believe that she shared his name as his lover and wife. Not for the first time she begged the Creator to allow her memories to return as they once were, where she could remember the names of those she cared for, where she could remember every breath with him, every touch. She allowed herself to imagine the moments she longed for, moments that made her cheeks grow hot. Their first meeting, the realisation of love, their wedding and the wedding night. But these were daydreams nothing more. They could not replace the true events, locked deep in her mind.

Matrim shifted in his sleep and Yana's head snapped to where he lay. His eyes opened to slits as he peered at her.

"Nynaeve?"

Yana smiled sadly at the young man.

"Go back to sleep Matrim." She watched him pull his blanket around himself with soft, caring eyes.

"As you command, Wisdom," he muttered mockingly.

Yana sighed. Could she be Nynaeve al'Meara, no el'Nynaeve Mandragoran, wife of the last King of Malkier, Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah ever again? That life seemed so far away, as senseless as chasing the sun.

A wind suddenly whipped through the trees, scattering the snow that covered the branches and battling with the flames of the fire. But Yana didn't care; the wind was answering her silent question. Closing her eyes she felt the wind rush round her tugging at her cloak and sent her braid lashing like a cat's tail.

"Always Nynaeve," she breathed to the wind, a smile turning the corners of her mouth. "Lan."

The wind bent and swirled away from the woman, turning south to leave Kandor. The wind blew in Tar Valon, amid the breath taking spectacles besieged by the 'rebel' Aes Sedai. It seized the banners, caressing them with it's touch. The wind brushed past Dragonmount, kicking up the soil on which the Dragon Reborn gave his first cry. On the road to Caemlyn the wind danced and while the sailors heading to Tear rejoiced at the speed it brought, the travellers along the road cursed and pulled their cloaks tighter around themselves. Through Braem Wood to the magnificent city of Caemlyn, capital city of mighty Andor, home to it's sovereign, Queen Elayne. The palace dominated the inner city, the towers reaching to the sky in pillars of white, complete with balconies in every possible direction.

On one such balcony stood a man, his face as soft as a stone, his eyes as cold as mountain streams. Although grey touched his dark hair, held by a simple band of leather, no sign of age marred his face. The uncrowned king could not help but close his eyes as the breeze called to him, singing the song deep in his heart. On this air from the North he could feel her touch, ignoring the scars that criss crossed his body, he could smell her scent but most of all he could hear her voice. Enchanting him, placing under her spell. She called his name.

"I come," he whispered. "The Light blind me, I come!"

The wind died, believing his words, just as she would, and he felt empty once again. He could not imagine a time without her, to listen, to care, to love him like no other would have, could have. He knew that Egwene and Elayne whispered confused by his sudden waves of emotion, emotion never let loose before. They did not understand, Nynaeve's death had been his as well. He ate, he drank, he slept, his heart beat but it was all pointless. With her last breath, his soul had ceased.

But she breathed still, and with that she kindled a spark of hope inside him, a spark that fanned itself into a roaring fire. He had been given the second chance he had prayed for; to protect her, to serve her and above all love her, as a husband should. All his regrets could be rectified and Lan didn't want to miss a moment. 


	7. Perhaps

Chapter Six: Perhaps

Mat stepped over the branch in his way as softly as he could, his boot sinking into the snow the other side, His breathe wisped in front of him, remaining white for a few seconds before disappearing on the slight wind. Although the sun hung high in the sky, the air still held the remembrance of a frosty morning. They were heading speedily through Kandor, close to the border with Arafel, chasing the Light knew what.

Mat eyed Nynaeve briefly out of the corner of his eye, as she in turn watched the surrounding undergrowth, her features marred by a slight frown though Mat himself heard nothing that should rouse her suspicions. She had bee off hand about the purpose of this high speeded quest but then Nynaeve always told you only what she believed to be right which was, at present, nothing. That being said, the Wisdom of his village had changed. The cloak was deep blue and fur lined, much more grand than anything he had ever seen her in yet no talk of 'stout Two River woollens' passed her lips. Her dress was richer still, yet more blue worked with silver embroidery, though slightly dishevelled from travelling. She walked much the same, self assured and ready to bully anyone who had stood in her way but her stride had shortened, giving way to an almost glide. But there was something else, betrayed in the tightness around her eyes and the unsmiling lips that did not turn upwards no matter how he tried. He had watched her the night before, sitting staring into the flames of the fire unaware of his scrutiny. Something in her eyes gave her a haunted, plagued look and it scared him more than he cared to admit. Through all the years of knowing her, since he was a child barely able to stand, Nynaeve had never looked frightened, never showing fear. But now she looked at the small bed Vlad prepared every night as though the blanket would bite her. She had been still awake when he succumbed to sleep and had been the first to rise, the dark circles under her eyes and stiffness of movement betrayed the fact that it was she who had kept the fire burning all night. What troubled her? What did she fear in the world of dreams?

Vlad glared at him and Mat realised that he had been staring. Nynaeve herself had not noticed, her thoughts absorbed by the trees, but her right hand man had seen all. Light, the man was almost as big as Perrin! Mat forced himself to grin and the other man returned it with a snarl, his lip curling making him even uglier that he already was. Blood and ashes, I would not like to face him in a tavern brawl Mat shivered and pulled his cloak closer to his body, flashing a knife from his sleeve as though testing. It had the desired effect. The bigger man's eyes widened before shifting his attention back to Nynaeve and the path ahead. Yes, he would have to be watched, Mat thought sourly as he smiled toothily at his little trick but his inattention caused him to almost walk into the back side of Nynaeve's black stallion as the owner stopped. The horse turned its regal head to snort at him.

"Blood and ashes Nynaeve, what now?" Mat sighed, exasperated.

"Be quiet and mind your language."

Mat rolled his eyes as he listened to the surrounding forest, slowly creeping a knife from his sleeve to hide in his palm, reading to hit any target which emerged from the green. A bird chirruped in the distance and the soft crunch of snow was heard as a rabbit or fox skipped through but nothing heavier to suggest a man. Nynaeve was no longer scanning the ground but instead had turned her gaze upward to the treetops. Mat followed her example not expecting anything but he caught sight of a glint. Nynaeve's head snapped to it and half opened her mouth but before she could get out a sound Mat tackled her from behind. The two slammed into the ground in a flurry of snow and half scream from Nynaeve before her mouth was filled with wet powder at the same time an arrow pounded into the ground where Nynaeve had been standing.

Nynaeve immediately began to struggle underneath him, spitting out snow and demanding that he unhand her but Mat ignored her flailing limbs. Instead he gathered her closer, pulling her tight to his chest as he rolled them both to the cover of the undergrowth. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Vlad doing the same thing though no shafts followed.  
The two came to a stop beneath a bush and only then did Mat realise that only one arrow had been fired. Nynaeve scrambled away from him, standing up despite attempts to keep her down, hastily straightening her clothes and eyes blazing.

"How dare you!" she spluttered, her face a brilliant red with hair that escaped her braid hanging around her face as she, for once, towered over him. Unconsciously Mat began to shrink back as he had when he was a child, fearful of an adult's rage. "Don't you ever try to man handle me again, you wool headed fool!" And before Mat could stop her, Nynaeve stalked back into the clearing, hands held wide to display her lack of weapons. She pulled the arrow shaft from the ground and examined it. With a sigh Mat stepped up beside her, seeing finally that the arrow shaft was painted yellow.

"Forgive us," Nynaeve called to the forest as Vlad poked his head up. "My cousin does not know your ways and is a little over protective." A rumble of laughter echoed through the trees, as impossible to trace as the direction the arrow had come from.

"As we have witnessed my lady," called a disembodied voice. "Please state your name and business."

"I am Nynaeve al'Meara and this my cousin Matrim Cauthon of Andor. We are simple travellers, looking to enjoy your beautiful country. Andor holds no quarrel with Kandor."

"And Kandor holds no quarrel with Andor."

There was a rustle of leaves as five men dropped from surrounding trees, only Nynaeve's hand on his arm stopped him from reaching for a blade.  
The shortest man stepped forward, the leader of these men though his chest was unadorned by any decorations. He was clean-shaven and his face was heavily lined, stained brown by wind and sun. Grey streaked through his hair. He bowed low and awkwardly, one leg extended with the opposite arm mirroring it while his hand was held in a fist over his heart. Nynaeve inclined her head, as a noble would, and pressed her hand to her own heart, this time open with palm resting on the blue of her dress. Mat simply inclined his head. The man smiled at Nynaeve's greeting.

"My Lord, My Lady," he began, his voice deep and rumbling. " I am Quinn Badru, Captain of the Second Unit of the Third Legion of Kandor's Borderland Guards. Please, my Lord, my Lady these are unsafe times but rest assured we would not allow any harm to befall you. Please, accept our hospitality for the remainder of this day and night and the promise of an escort while you are in our constituency for you and your Lady, my Lord."

Mat opened his mouth to say it was not necessary but Nynaeve increased the pressure of her grip.

"That would be delightful Captain Badru," Nynaeve half sighed, her eyes flaring dangerously up at Mat.

Badru bowed again, motioning for one of his men to take her horses reins, as the trees were too low for them to ride.

"Please, follow us."

Mat fell into step beside Nynaeve, with Vlad giving everyone a sour look.

"Where did all that come from?" Mat asked keeping his voice low. "All that Andor holds no quarrel, the bowing and that arrow?"

"In Kandor, that is the traditional greeting between unknown strangers," Nynaeve whispered, her lips barely moving as she watched Badru's back. "An open fist while bowing is usually between men, but can also mean 'Ready to serve'. The open hand is a woman's signal but means we are ready to accept his service. There are many particulars such as how many fingers showing but you just need to remember to bow with a fist and very slightly. Vlad you must bow lower with a fully extended arm."

Vlad nodded seriously, hanging on her every word.

"And the arrow," Nynaeve continued. "Is a way of communicating without use of words. Yellow means halt with no harm intended, red is a warning and unpainted…" She trailed off and looked up at him for the first time in days with amusement in her eyes. "Well, your dead."

"Oh," was all that Mat could say at this barrage of information. "And how do you know that?"

All amusement drained from her face as she returned to looking forward. If possible her voice became even quieter.

"You can learn much in the Black Ajah."

XXXXXX

The black warhorse's nerves were running high and the whole of the Palace's stable crew knew it. The magnificent had grown tired of staying within the walls for so long and longed to run. The slightest glint of metal, sounds of voices raised in anger would have the horse desperate to get loose. The lad leading him held the reins gingerly and at arm's length. The stable hands had drawn lots to decide who would lead the fierce looking horse and Dab had chosen the short straw.

Suddenly a shout went up at the gate but for what no one knew. Immediately the horse reared up, pulling the leather cords from Dab's young hands. The stable hand immediately retreated trying to avoid the metal clad hooves that flailed so wildly but the lad stumbled over his own feet in his haste to escape. He fell to the cobbled floor as men came running, hearing the horses shrieks and Dab instantly curled himself into a tight ball. Closing his eyes he began to pray to the Creator, to anything that might save him. He did not want to be trampled to death. Dab dreamed of battle, of the love of a beautiful noblewoman, of glory that he so dearly wanted, of songs sung of his deeds in the next Age and the next. He wanted immortality, to be more than a stable hand. 

Abruptly he realised that hooves no longer thundered around his head, threatening to break every bone in his body. Slowly he eased one eye open as he unfurled his limbs. A man held the horses reins, a hand gently stroking the animal's snout as he crooned softly, the wind mixing the dark hair of the man with the black of the horses mane.

With the horse pacified the man turned to him, extending a calloused hand towards him. Cautiously the boy took it allowing himself to be effortlessly be pulled to standing.

The man was a giant to the lad, well muscled with a half mystical sword strapped to his back. His black hair was grey at the temples but his face was as hard as stone, his eyes as cold as snow though to the boy he exuded power, grace and inspiration. The cold eyes surveyed him steadily with no emotion.

"You're alright lad, a few bruises for you to contend with but fine all the same," the man said in a rich and, to the stable hand, cultured voice. The ebony horse whickered as if in agreement with his master's word while a second horse was being loaded with light saddlebags.

Dab helped the man saddle the horse himself, overcoming his wariness as he watched the man's skill with dealing with him. Light touches and soft words to keep the horse calm but a strong masterful hand to command. Finally the giant man mounted, glancing up to a balcony of the palace. Dab followed his gaze to see four women watching attentively. Immediately he recognized the golden curls of his Queen, the short, slim figure of the young Amyrlin, the tall proud but strange Aiel, the Queen's closets friend and the Captain of the Bodyguard who was often found in the guardroom drinking. They all nodded down at the Lord who returned it as Dab made a hasty bow. Suddenly a gate way appeared in the middle of the courtyard, opening to reveal a snowy landscape. Dab gave a jump back wards almost tripping and he was such that amusement had drifted across the man's face, just for a split second.  
The stable hand composed himself quickly, turning back to the Lord, passing the reins of the packhorse and giving Mandarb one last, ginger pat.

"If you remember one thing boy," the Lord said. "Let it be this; Women are bad enough at the best of times but when you are in love, that is when you give up any sense and reason along with your heart and soul." With that the Lord spurred his horse forward through the gateway that winked closed behind the butterscotch coloured packhorse.

Lan had no idea what that boy he had saved from death and had left staring at the place the gateway had stood would be when he was a man. Perhaps he would join the palace guard, lying about his age to enter early to serve against those who might strike against his Queen and country. Perhaps he would remain in the stables, working his way up to become Horse Master, to breed the best horses ever seen. Perhaps he would fall in love with a noblewoman whose horse he attended and she would return his affection in total disregard to her father's disgust. And perhaps he would become Dab Horsetamer, the greatest horseman who ever lived, able to shoot a bow from the animal's back with such precision it was almost godlike. His deeds would be sung across the continent and eventually he would become one of the heroes bonded to the Horn of Valere. Immortalised, perhaps.  
But then perhaps, he would never forget the advice given by the uncrowned King of Malkier. 


	8. Dance

Chapter Seven: Dance

Lan passed through the open gateway to a landscape locked in winter. The horse snorted at the sudden appearance of snow, pawing the white folds as though trying to rid the earth of it. Lan's breathe wisped out in front of him, slowly disappearing as he surveyed the land, well aware that there were no sounds around him.

A black dot appeared on the next hilltop so suddenly it was as though it had sprung from thing air. Lan watched the dot move closer, no emotion playing on his face though he shifted his sword out of its scabbard well aware that the ancient blade could stick, rendering his weapon less. There was nowhere he could take cover so he remained still. Mandarb knew his master well, remaining perfectly still, not dancing on the snow.

As the dot grew closer, Lan's sharp eyes made him realise that it was a horse carrying a tall red haired man. His height, burning hair and his eye like a stormy sky should have been enough to mark him as a Aiel but he rode the horse with the seat of a lad who had done it all his life and the sword in its scabbard marked him as only one man. The Dragon Reborn had come.

"Lan," Rand greeted as he drew rein, nodding to his old friend. His face was serious and harder than Lan had ever seen it before. The Warder felt soft crying in his heart as he realised that this boy had been forced to grow up too fast, had lost all his childhood innocence in the space of a single breath, never to be the same. Like Lan, the lad's heart had grown hard like stone but there was still hope for him. He had three women who he loved and was loved by. They would teach him to cry once more.

"What the blazes are you doing here, sheepherder?" Lan snapped, disguising his inner thoughts. "Where is your escort? Don't tell me you have run away!"

Rand straightened in his saddle at the rebuke, like a child desperately trying to prove his worth to an elder brother.

"I slipped away for a few hours," Ran replied indignantly, confirming Lan's suspicions that neither the Maiden nor Min knew he was gone. Yet. "Don't think that you are the only one who cares for Nynaeve," Rand continued, more coldly and spitefully than he meant.

He watched the Warders eyes flare slightly but other than that there was no dent in his steely countenance. Disturbed Rand tried again to fill the silence, his tone this time more upbeat.

"Come Lan," Rand implored. "We have always been good friends, have we not?" When Lan's expression did not change but remained as flat as a board Rand changed tactic. His face became earnest. "I want to help. She was my friend; she followed us from Esmond's Field because she wanted to keep us safe from harm. I would be ashamed if anything were to happen to her."

Lan regarded him calmly, taking in his tanned face and his eyes this time clear blue. Slowly he sighed.

"It was not your fault," he said roughly. "Light knows Nynaeve has a will of her own. I would be glad of your help, sheepherder." He extended a sword calloused hand. With a smile, a shadow of his boyish side, Rand took it in his gloved one.

"You will not regret this."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His hand swirled the goblet of wine unconsciously, though none of the blood red liquid spilled over the side, as Mat watched Nynaeve carefully from the safety of the opposite corner. It seemed that the three of them had arrived right in the middle of a wedding celebration and Nynaeve had taken full advantage of Badru's hospitality to mix with the locals. And she had proved to be a huge hit. The men flocked to her running and fetching drinks and smiling bashfully when she whispered thank you while the women gossiped about her beauty, her long dark hair and deep brown eyes, muttering about her fine clothes. Basically Nynaeve was stealing all of Mat's limelight. At present she was surrounded by a gaggle of adoring listeners, most of whom were male, hanging on her every word. Mat watched with a disgusted expression on his face as he watched her breathing deepen, her back straighten as her laugh drifted through the merriment, her eyes twinkling. This was not the way a married woman should behave and this defiantly not the old Nynaeve. The old Nynaeve would have marched over, called this one a trollop and then would have given her a good smack with the nearest implement.

Mat tore his gaze from his companion to smile at a full bosomed girl passing, carrying several drinks. Mat knew that it was his smile that won hearts and, coupled with the mischievous twinkle in his eye, he knew he was more than average. But this girl did not look at al flattered by his attention. In fact she looked petrified, stumbling and dropping two glasses, as she swung round to look at Nynaeve, as though to check she hadn't seen it. Before Mat could step forward to help her clear up she was gone, melting into the throng of people that were getting ready to dance.

With a frown Mat's gaze went straight to Nynaeve, certain that it was her fault that every time he smiled, the object of his attention skipped away as though he had set her skirt on fire. He was just in time to see his former Wisdom lay a gentle hand on a particularly tall and handsome man's arm, looking up at him through her lashes. Mat sighed. Her behaviour was going to bring them trouble. Hurriedly he glanced at Vlad and seeing that he was involved with the buffet, Mat quickly pushed his way towards Nynaeve and her new 'friends', determined to both rescue her and get the answers he wanted.

Nynaeve watched Mat's approach out of the corner of her eye but her attention did not leave the conversation she was having with the son of the county's wealthiest landowner. Though not particularly short, she enjoyed Mat's shoving and elbowing past the taller men, who did not part easily, to get into her circle.

"Nynaeve," Mat greeted curtly. Some of the men shifted uneasily at his tone, which, to them, did not seem respectful of a woman, especially when it was polite to bow. "May I have this dance?" Mat finished, unfazed by the cold stares he was receiving for whisking away their newest companion.

Nynaeve found it very difficult to keep the charming smile on her face but somehow she managed to control herself.

"Why Matrim," she said. "I thought you would never ask." Quickly she promised to return before placing her hand in Mat's smooth one and glided towards the dance area to join the other couples waiting. 

"Would you care to tell me what you are playing at?" Mat asked pleasantly as he bowed, with the instruments starting the introduction to a lively jig behind him.

"Not really," Nynaeve answered just a nicely. "But I think I'm going to have to anyway."

They both knew the dance well, each foot movement practised and precise, each turn effortless and when they met in the centre it was as though they were floating. As their hands joined once again, Mat spotted the smiling faces of the middle-aged women who ringed the dance floor, smiles that were like a proud mother over an excelling child. Grins like that always made Mat uneasy. But before he could ask Nynaeve the reason for their knowing faces, his partner has changed to a red haired girl as the dance continued.  
By the time he and Nynaeve met again, he knew exactly what he needed to ask.

"What the hell have you been telling everyone," he asked as he smiled.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Nynaeve answered with an innocent glance that made her look like guilt nailed to a door.

"Oh you know. Why does every girl I smile at turn tail and run? Why is every women looking at us like we're coming round tomorrow for dinner and wedding chats? And don't you try and get out of this by saying I'm being paranoid." Mat ranted.

"You're being paranoid."

Before Mat had a chance to scream his partner had changed yet again, Nynaeve being replaced by a girl taller than he was. As he danced with her, he kept one eye on Nynaeve determined not to let her out of his sight. Another turn and a spin found Nynaeve standing opposite him once again. Desperately he controlled his anger.

"I demand to know," he hissed venomously his frown turning to a smile when the couple next to them glanced at them curiously. "If this is going to work then I need to know what is going on so I don't put my foot in it."

It was Nynaeve's turn to look at him curiously.

"You really want to know?" He nodded vigorously. Nynaeve sighed, telling herself she was doing this to make sure he didn't blow their cover. "I told them we were married."

Mat's face twisted, contorting into a look of unadulterated rage, tongue unable to find the words he so wanted to spew at the woman standing in front of him, staring incredulously up at him.

"Why?" He gasped unable to find any other words.

"It suited my purposes," Nynaeve shrugged. "Gives me a reason for travelling with you, a reason for the separation from our group, keeps away unwanted attention for me and, most importantly," she eyed him beadily, feet moving unconsciously to the steps of the dance. "Keeps you out of trouble."

"Trouble!" Mat spluttered. "Its not me who is going t get in trouble! Have you seen yourself?"

"A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone," Nynaeve answered with an uncaring air. "And I might add that you are playing the role of jealous husband incredibly, all those scathing looks are quite frightening really."

"You are acting like a brazen hussy," Mat hissed. Immediately Nynaeve's face turned from delight at his position to an expression of outrage, for which he quietly congratulated himself.

"How dare you!" she retorted. For a second Mat thought she would slap him, but somehow she managed to control herself and with some effort her fury turned to a false smile as the dance ended. "Good evening to you Matrim," she continued icily, curtseying before whisking away in a flurry of midnight blue, not bothering to wait for a reply.

Mat stood for a second, marvelling at such a display of self-control from a woman who constantly wielded a stick and would have snapped him in half if he had even thought of calling her a 'brazen hussy'. But his marvel was quickly turned to fury, fury at how she thought she could use him as a pawn. He muttered a few words to the musicians, whose eyes seemed to pop at his request, before pursuing Nynaeve and catching her hand in his and spinning her round.

"What do you think you are doing?" she seethed through gritted teeth.

"Is it a crime for a husband to dance with his wife?" He answered, voice loud and carrying so all could hear. Her dark eyes narrowed at him as the other partygoers turned their attention to their conversation, her mind quickly calculating the scene that would ensue if the pair had a blazing argument. For this reason she did not pull away but neither did she step forward.

"Come my love," Mat said pleasantly but his mischievous eyes carried a threat. "I know you know this dance." Pulling her forward he whispered in her ear. "Lets see how much of you is left in there."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lan stepped out from 'The Hangman's Noose' into the freezing night, hastily pulling on his black riding gloves and drawing his fur lined cloak further around himself. From the shadows Rand emerged, his tanned face shadowed and his cloak hanging open as though the cold did not bother him at all. The horses greeted their masters with an affectionate nuzzle and were repaid with an absent pat as the men talked.

"Well?" Rand questioned eagerly, all but ignoring his steed. "Has she been here?"

"Yes," Lan replied simply as he checked his saddle. "Along with another of our acquaintance who was lucky to escape the noose." The Warder gestured to the catastrophes in the town square. It seemed all but abandoned, with the gallows broken, the rope lying on the floor surrounded by a mass of broken boxes and the snow churned as though a stampede had burst through the unsuspecting town. "The town's folk won't touch it. Says it was witchcraft." Lan continued as his companion ran his eyes over the sight and as he unloaded the butterscotch packhorse.

"Seems like Nynaeve had to do something extreme," Rand sighed. "For who was all this trouble worth?"

"Mat."

"By the Light," Rand cursed, anger and surprise flickering across his face for a split second before his icy countenance returned. "Well that's torn it. She probably left him in a ditch somewhere and it would serve him right. They never did see eye to eye."

"On the contrary, this is exactly what we need," Lan retorted. "It shows she remembers something, someone from before." The warrior smiled to himself, a silent smile of hope and pride. "And not one but two ta'veren will be in a single place. Something big is going on."

"So what now?"

As if in answer, Lan swung himself gracefully into the saddle of his giant warhorse as the butterscotch packhorse skipped merrily into the stable, unneeded now. Rand sighed. He had been looking forward to comfortable nights sleep but now it looks as though that were but a dream, for tonight they ride.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I don't know what you think you are playing at but you will stop it this instant," Nynaeve hissed as she appeared to walk gracefully towards the floor, the other party goers watching them intently expecting a real show from their 'aristocratic' visitors. In reality she was trying to wrench her arm form her 'husband's' hand.

"Come, come my dear, I know you are shy but what kind of guests would we be if we did not share our traditional dances," Mat replied sarcastically, earning a polite titter from their surroundings. Then Mat's voice dropped to a volume that she alone could hear. "Behave yourself and everything will be fine. We wouldn't want any upsets with our story now would we?"

Nynaeve glared up at him, wishing she could rip his pretty little eyes out. How could a person she had 'known' for so long be so cruel?

"You'll get yours Matrim Cauthon, I swear it," she seethed. He smiled. He was laughing at her, at her!

"I don't doubt it."

Gracefully he led her to the centre with all the false gallantry he could muster, bowing to her as though she were royalty. With a sigh, Nynaeve realised she was trapped, nowhere she could run, no means of escape from what was certainly be a public mockery. Gritting her teeth in a smile she curtseyed back, left with no other option.

With a nod from her partner the musicians began to play their introduction, an eerily familiar tune that ran a cold finger along her spine and unconsciously her feet moved closer to him, her arms moving for one to grip his shoulder and the other his hand. They were so close, closer than what was publicly allowed. She could feel his breath on her face, the common twinkle of his eye and the hand that held hers was older and calloused but part of her remembered when it was small, warm and fat. A child's hand.

The music began to speed up, its rich deep sound now echoing around her, breathing of passion but she felt none for this man.

"This dance was banned in our village," Mat's familiar voice began but she could not look up at him, they were too close. Somehow their feet knew what they were doing, taking them across the floor as though on a cloud. In the background, Nynaeve could hear the disapproving whispers of the older members of their audience but Mat continued. "The Wisdom before you saw to that but still everyone seemed to know it. I especially remember seeing you one night when I was 'creeping about' as you so often put it. You were in the Fletcher's barn with a couple of friends and you were with Davey Fletcher and you were dancing this. You were seventeen" He spun her away but the she was back with him, her hands either side of his face.

Nynaeve's mind wandered a path not trodden in a long time, her eyes watching Mat's face distort and change under her hands to the face of someone completely different. She knew the contours of this man's face, Davey's face. She knew the smoothness of his tanned cheeks, freshly shaven as she liked, she knew his sandy blond hair that flopped in his dark eyes. And she knew that she had danced with him the dance her feet remembered.

The pace sped up, music drifting around her, through her but it was no longer Mat that she danced that forbidden dance with, it was Davey as her friends giggled with their sweethearts behind them, each knowing the dance also. Davey's strong arms from the years in the fields of his father's farm supported her as leant back, putting her trust in him completely, never fearing that he would drop her as they spun faster and faster in the complicated steps.

Somehow their hands were entangled over their heads, their faces so dangerously close, so intimate that a slight wind would push them together. And they spun and spun on the spot, the world rotating around them but all she could see were Davey's warm brown eyes, devoid of age, of understanding, just blissful in their youth, innocence and vibrancy, as they bore into hers unable to look away just as she could not tear hers.

Then the fiddler slowed his relentless pace and they spun slower and slower but unable to break their gazes. And then silence.

Nynaeve stared as Davey's face faded and there was the face of Matrim Cauthon, so very close to hers. No barn surrounded her now traded for a hall of celebrating people and gone was her simple farm dress replaced with fine silk. Quickly she forced herself to recover as the crowd began to applaud, trying to wipe away the shocked expression her face held but Mat had seen it, had seen the glaze that had just lifted. Slowly Nynaeve stepped away, away from his grasp and the memories he brought, curtsying gracefully as he stared at her, seeing the sadness behind her eyes, his own trying to convey his own sorrow at her pain.

With an effort, Nynaeve broke the gaze and disappeared into the gathering, her smile returned and her mask replaced after such a brief slip in that forbidden dance. ------------------------------------------

there you go another chapter what do you think I'm really sorry it took so long. The internet broke.  
Please R and R. 


	9. Burn

Chapter 8: Burn

Unbearable heat surrounded her, pulling her apart where she stood at the flames heart. Lungs choked and burning, barely able to breathe, each gasp searing her throat as though the fire was coursing through her, consuming everything even her soul. Screams, not her own, rushed though her head, filling it with visions of blood, her nostrils filling with the stench of death.  
And no matter how she wanted to she could not shout, could not cry out from the pain or the horror, could not run from her fear, just stand sightlessly, enduring.

But her hand was gripping something in a tight fist, refusing to let go, though she knew that this was the source of her torment. It was cool on her flesh, which was impossible for the heat surrounded her on every side and yet this object whatever it could be was untouched, unchanged by all the events around her. She knew that she should drop it but her hand would not obey her fevered command, as though the object were stuck to her, as though it were her addiction and no matter how painful she needed it. And she burned.

Then, in the blink of an eye, everything stopped, the fire quenched, the sounds and smell evaporated. She fell to her knees, skin pricked by the blackened gravel at her feet, her strength leaving her as the fire did. Gulping in air that never tasted so sweet she looked down at her skin that was as lightly tanned from travel and pure as it had always been, when it should have been blackened and bloody from the flames, though her body still remembered the pain, refusing to move. Pain called her attention to her tightly closed fist and slowly, feeling a strange sense of soreness, she unfurled it to find a golden ring gleaming like a treasure, a crane taking flight before her eyes. But despite its apparent coolness it had branded her, the soft skin of her palm, marred previously only by the identical pinprick scars like thorns on either hand, had risen and puffed. But she could make out the insignia of the flying crane, forever branded on her.

'  
With a start Nynaeve awoke, drenched in the sweat of her prophetic nightmare, and clutched her hand, checking for the brand she had always thought would be there. But no angry skin met her prying fingers, just the thorn-like scar in the centre, a scar she didn't remember getting. Gasping as she had done in that dream world, she searched her belt pouch in the cool night air. The sounds of celebration had died hours ago leaving a eerie silence hanging in the atmosphere, like a shroud of death, but at that moment Nynaeve's heart was pounding in her ears making her unaware of the quietness that surrounded her. Finally she found what she had been looking for. There, glinting in the moonlight was a golden ring, the exact copy of the one in the dream and just as precious. Frowning she studied it, turning it over and over, as though trying to discover its secret but she only found the signet ring given to her by her love. And yet she feared it, preferring to keep it locked up in the belt pouch she wore for the entire journey lest it stir up the memory of their separation.

Finally she stood, and, slipping on a plain blue dress, left her room, knowing that now sleep was beyond her. Sighing, she allowed the refreshing breeze enter her lungs, the wind skipping across the snow filled landscape as she walked, untouched and undaunted by the whiteness around her. The same dream every night, engulfed in flame with no possible escape and yet she could not fathom the meaning of her recurring nightmare.  
This was not the only thing stopping her sleep. The dance she had shared with Mat had stirred up memories and above all feelings from what seemed like a past life, on a farm in the backwater of Andor. Familiar but alien landscapes met her minds eye, along with the faces of people who she knew nothing of. Above all she could see the face of Davey Fletcher.

"He died," she whispered. Mat stepped up beside her, boots crunching on the snow and his cloak wrapped tightly around him and his breath wisping out into the night. She knew he had been following her since she left the inn, trying desperately to remain in the shadows but to no avail. She didn't need to look up at him to know he was there. "He was a really nice boy."

"You remember?" Mat asked gently, his hand creeping up to touch her shoulder.

"No," she answered, not shrugging off his touch, not seeming to mind it at all. In fact it felt natural.

Mat sighed, disappointed by her answer. He had hoped that by jogging her memory it would break down the barriers that held her old life back.

"He was killed in a farming accident during the harvest," he informed her, gazing carefully at her profile. No emotions played on her face, leaving him unsure of her feelings. Nevertheless he continued his monologue. "You were distraught. It was no secret that the two of you would have been married the following spring. His death left you somewhat," he paused, trying to think of the right word. "Cold. I think it was around that time that you started to take the Wisdom business seriously, especially the bit about Wisdoms never marrying."

They were silent for a few minutes, leaving nothing but the wind to be heard. Shivering Mat tugged his cloak closer and removed his hand from Nynaeve's shoulder. She must be freezing, he thought taking in the thin dress she was wearing but she seemed unscathed by the biting wind.

"My parents?" she asked, her brow creasing as though she were trying to remember something but with no success. Mat found this hard to believe for Nynaeve he had known had a memory like a steel trap, bringing up every transgression he ever made.

"They lived out of the village," he explained patiently though uncomfortable with the fact he had to explain someone's own parents to them. "Your mother was called Elnore but she died when you were born." He looked down at her to see an expression of distress over her features. He wanted to touch her, to let her know that he was there and that she could cry on his shoulder, as he had so often done on hers as a child. However, he stayed his hand, knowing that his old friend did not particularly like to display affection publicly. He had marvelled at how her pride, her need to remain strong often gave her the edge of coldness, even with her fiery temper but now he just wished she would let someone else in.

With some effort Nynaeve controlled her emotions, very conscious of the man standing next to her. It would not do to show her disappointment to this boy, no matter their connections.

"So I never knew her?" she said, swallowing the tears that threatened. Why did it hurt so much to think that she never knew her mother? She couldn't even remember the village he talked of and yet the absence of a mother hit her hard.

"No," Mat answered gravely, content to wait until she asked for his condolence rather than give it presumptuously. "So you were left with your father. He was a nice man from what I heard but he didn't really have a clue about how to raise you." He paused, letting this new information sink in before he continued. "So he treated you like the son he never had, teaching you wood craft and how to hunt. Of course the women's council did not approve but there was nothing they could really do, what with you living outside the village, just the two of you." No one really knew what went on out there for all those years because Nynaeve's father lead a rather solitary life with his only child. He did remember them coming into the village now and then and he heard his mother gossiping with the neighbours about how the pair hardly ever spoke to each other, showing no affection in the company of others, not even the barest of touches.

"So that's why I' m so good at, what was it? Ah yes, creeping about," Nynaeve said, trying to brush aside the fact that she did not remember a thing about her father, not a touch, not a smell, not a taste. It made her feel empty inside.

The silence grew over them again with Mat blowing on his freezing hands to try and warm them. He noticed that Nynaeve was staring straight ahead at the undergrowth no doubt in thought over the things he had revealed.

"Did I love Davey?" she asked suddenly, her voice so even that it was monotonous but she knew it was the wrong question. What she really wanted to know was did she really love Lan?

"I don't know," he answered truthfully, unaware of her thoughts. "It was clear that he adored you and his parents certainly liked you but I was young, I didn't really know about girls feelings back then."

"And now you do?" she said sceptically, an eyebrow creeping up her forehead, a ghost of a smile blooming on her face but still she did not look at him, instead she focused on the undergrowth that they had walked to. With Mat it was hard to keep humour out of any conversation.

Mat spread his arms wide, in a gesture of innocence, instantly regretting it as a gust of wind tore at his cloak. He opened his mouth, ready to let rip an amusing comment but he had no time to. Nynaeve threw herself at him, so that even her slight form was enough to send them into the cushion of snow. Mat looked to where he had been standing before, a trolloc spear quivering where his boots foot prints still remained.

"Blood and ashes," he cursed as a trolloc burst from the undergrowth, its ugly face contorted into a war cry. Still on his chest, Nynaeve raised a hand and a ball of fire flew from her outstretched fingers. But instead of hitting the trolloc in the chest, it careered past. "You missed!" Mat hollered, shoving her off and seizing the spear, legs spread wide to meet the attacker as two more Trollocs appeared from nowhere. "It was right in front of you!"

A blast caught his eye as it did their attackers, slowing them down as they gazed up into the sky that was exploding colours and light to be seen from miles around. Instantly there were cries of alarm coming from the look out post, followed by the shouts of the soldiers as they leapt from their beds and the clatter of metal as they seized their armour. The Trollocs were even dazzled by the sudden light, faltering I their loping runs and giving Mat the chance to dispatch the first runner. Further along he heard more rustling and roars as more Trollocs burst through and into the town. As Mat whirled to face the second trolloc he caught the smug smile on Nynaeve's face as her firework caught the attention of the soldiers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lan trudged doggedly through the thickening snow, leading his prize horse and his pack horse behind him, finding navigating the snow capped trees too difficult on horse back. Rand walked beside him, again unaffected by the cold, so calm that he could be taking a walk in a garden. Though his features betrayed nothing, Lan was anything but calm, his mind racing with worry for his beloved wife. What was she doing in such a desolate wilderness with no one but a half-wit jailor and an untrustworthy fox to guard her back? Was she warm enough in this killing cold? Did she need his arms around her, to hold her close and feel his heart beat against his, to cocoon her against this empty world? Did she even think of him at all?

He shook the unsavoury thought from his head. Of course she thought of him, he was certain, but was it with the same longing, the same need that made him pursue her across half the world?

Rand had long since sensed his friends unease and had chosen to remain silent for most of his journey, giving Lan time to evaluate his state of mind and, Lan thought, concoct his own. Why was this man, the Dragon Reborn, really here? Was it loyalty to the woman who came from the same village, the woman who had followed him when they stole from Esmond's Field that dark night, intent on rescuing them from the clutches of an Aes Sedai? It was possible Lan theorized, that he did feel a strong tie to Nynaeve. But it was equally plausible that Rand had another motive, a motive that lay in the position he had found himself in as the saviour of the world in need of friends and allies, powerful and trustworthy. Nynaeve had already proven herself to fit those criteria. Could Rand be looking for his wife for the simple reason that he required to use her down the road?

Rand seemed to feel the Warder's suspicious musings, shifting his unnerving eyes, sometimes grey, sometimes blue, to meet Lan's icy ones. But before either could open their mouth they were bathed in a sudden light, as though the sun had risen early and burst through the snow filled clouds above.

Both men's heads shot up to look at the illuminated sky, light picking up on each snowflake as it fell, and saw what appeared to be a firework, its trail beginning in the forest some distance away. Immediately they heard inaudible cries from some far off camp followed by the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal.

Immediately Lan swung himself into the saddle, knowing that speed was of the essence despite the low-slung branches that made up this forest. Rand followed his lead, vaulting into his seat and flattening his lean form against his steeds back so he did not sit upright, making it harder to be hit by the trees.

"No Rand," Lan ordered, his voice full of command from his seat, reaching across to seize his companion's reigns. "This is not a fight you should be involved in."

Rand opened his mouth to protest but Lan raised his hand, silencing the younger man.

"We cannot risk it. Follow me with the pack horse," the Warder finished, turning his horse and hurtling through the forest, kicking up snow in his wake and pressing his body as low as possible. The hard man ignored the icy wind that clawed at his hair, battered his face and made his tears spring to his eyes. But he did not care about the beating he was taking, all he cared for was spurring his horse onwards to where he was convinced Nynaeve needed him. 


End file.
